


com'è gentil

by heartsfilthylesson



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 17:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4531470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsfilthylesson/pseuds/heartsfilthylesson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night at the opera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	com'è gentil

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by an anon on tumblr -- Hannibal goes down on Bedelia at their opera box.

Once they settle into the plush seats of their box, he leans closer, mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “I’m glad we’re here.” **  
**

Bedelia hums as the lights dim and the bells ring. “Of course.”.

In truth, she is too –she’d been looking forward to this performance for weeks– but Hannibal’s reaction to her disinterest is always so heartfelt, his disappointment so palpable. It’s too thrilling to acquiesce.

“You’re not?” Hannibal shifts to look at her, brow furrowed. His lips part an inch but the curtains are drawn before he can say anything else.

As Norina and Malatesta conspire to fool Pasquale, he rests his palm on her knee, over black silk organza and lace. She feels him shift in his seat until his breath warms her temple when he speaks. “Perhaps we should not have come tonight,” he says, his voice barely audible over the orchestra. He moves his touch higher then, over her thighs and stomach, stopping at her ribcage, just below her chest.

“Perhaps.” She keeps her gaze on the stage, ignoring his roaming hands.

“But we’re already here.” He brushes his fingertips over her breasts, drags his teeth along her shoulder. “We shall have to use this time for something more to your liking.”

Her nipples harden beneath his touch, but she’s not ready to give in, not yet so she half-shrugs in feigned indifference. “Perhaps,” she repeats, catching his faint smirk from the corner of her eye.

He rises, his breadth blocking her view of the Don before he kneels in front of her. He carefully gathers the loose skirts of her dress about her hips, spreads her legs and settles between them.

Well aware of how much she enjoys unconventional spaces, Hannibal does not immediately touch her. A long moment passes. She is breathless with anticipation, never happier to be without guests.

Don Pasquale signs his marriage contract and Hannibal finally brings his lips to her skin, her calves and her knees and her inner thighs. Their eyes meet and then his tongue is on her and in her; he thrusts a finger inside her and then another, curls them as he leaves light kisses on her slick flesh.

Bedelia moans, low and long, a wanton cor anglais under his hot mouth and long fingers. One of her hands goes to the back of his head, disheveling his carefully styled hair and pulling him closer. He has performed this enough times to know exactly how to draw it out or how to get her off quickly. With the added excitement of being  _almost_ in public, she already feels the tension rising, heat gathering low in her belly. It will be fast.

She comes with the swelling of the strings and her clit between his lips.

He murmurs something against her inner thigh and reaches for the hem of her dress. She stops him and draws him in for a kiss instead. Bedelia sighs into his mouth, tasting herself on his tongue when it touches hers.

“Fuck me,” she tells him. And he does.


End file.
